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The Commotion |
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Scene: Midstage left. An old plywood fence that construction companies use again and again, with many openings. Backstage right. A pushcart 'hot dog' stand with a gaudy umbrella. Charlie, a hardhat construction worker is staring through a hole in fence. Achmed, owner of the 'hot dog' stand, is seated on an orange crate, upstage left, watching his stand with binoculars. Charlie: The time clock. I almost forgot the time clock. (he runs behind the fence. A loud voice offstage, authoritative and impatient) Voice: Hurry up, goddamn it. I don't have all day. Lousy loafer. Charlie: (enters carrying hourglass that runs the length of the play. He gestures with his middle finger towards the voice.) Do this. Do that. Always somebody telling you something. (he sets hourglass on an orange crate) Voice: Are you ready yet, dolt? Charlie: (gestures again) Almost, Boss. Voice: Call me mister. (Charlie unfolds an enormous purple handkerchief, removes a coin and starts flipping and catching it, slapping it on his wrist, calling heads or tails.) Well, filth? (Charlie attaches the handkerchief to the back of his hardhat.) Charlie: Ready. Voice: We begin. (Mister enters. He wears a suit and carries an umbrella. He walks upstage center, bows to audience, and says:) Mister. (He snaps his fingers at Charlie, who nods to audience) Charlie: Charlie. (Mister snaps his fingers at Achmed, who is oblivious.He snaps again. Charlie tiptoes to Achmed and nudges him at the third snap) Achmed: I'm looking. Charlie: Pssst! Achmed: (annoyed) I'm looking. Charlie: It's the Boss. Achmed: (leaps up, frightened) I'm sorry, Boss. I'm sorry. Mister: Mister! Achmed: (bows grotesquely to audience) Achmed. Mister: (snaps fingers at Charlie) Penalty. Charlie: (eager) How much, Boss? How much? Mister: Three. Achmed: I forgot. I apologized. Mister: Five. Achmed: (whines) Charlie didn't get nothing for forgetting. Mister: I hadn't said we begin when Charlie forgot. Charlie: Anymore, Boss? Anymore? Mister: Five. (Charlie writes Achmed's name on fence in chalk, underlines it, and writes the number 5. Achmed resumes his position. To Charlie) Has anyone looked yet? Charlie: Not yet. Mister: Why not? Charlie: Uh. . . . Uh. . . . Mister: Why not? Charlie: There were unfavorable omens in the sky. Mister: (snaps fingers at Achmed) Penalty. Achmed: (leaping up eagerly) How much, Boss? How much? Mister: Two. Charlie: Confrontations were delayed by impurities of self. Mister: Acceptable. Achmed: Anymore, boss? Anymore? Mister: Two. Achmed: (writes Charlie's name on fence, underlines it, and writes the number 2. resumes his position) I got five. Mister: Forgetfulness and feeble excuses are punished more than lack of wit. Now to business. I want a psychiatrist today. A clever one. Smug and satisfied, but a bit overbearing. Patronizing, in a sneaky way. Expensive. Full of ideas and theories. Certain. Charlie: (to Achmed) We're all right today. They're almost all like that. Achmed: I'm looking. Mister: How long? Charlie: Soon (Mister exits) This very day perhaps, my bondage may be ended. My tasks of degradation, the scorn and insults, even the accumulation of sorrow may fade like an ebbing ocean, to only rest to splash beneath the surface, ominous and uncharted, churning perilous storms to endanger my journeys. But I'll be free. To hazard my powers of self with destruction. To woo explorations. To have passionate visions. . . . To preserve me poetic. . . . Failure? What fear, if I can truly act alone. (while Charlie is speaking, the psychiatrist, a man in neat business suit, enters from stage left. He strolls past the fence, glances at it, looks to see if he is observed, then furtively goes to fence and peeks between the boards. Charlie sees him.) Freedom! How often I've dreamed you. Hungered your body while waiting. . . . Enduring. I smell you. . . . Somewhere. . . . In. . . . The. . . . Vicinity. Soon. (He addresses the man at the fence.) Victim! Psychiatrist: (guiltily starting) What? What did you say? Were you talking me? Charlie: Good view. Psychiatrist: Oh. . . . Yes. . . . Very. How shall I phrase it. . . ? Charlie: Stimulating. Psychiatrist: A curious word from a laborer. Charlie: Does it threaten you? Do you resent it? Psychiatrist: Hardly. But it was, you know, unexpected. (Achmed approaches, peering at him with his binoculars) Achmed: I'm looking. Psychiatrist: (starts nervously) I didn't see you. Achmed: You never see the unexpected. Psychiatrist: What are you looking for? Charlie: Nosey, ain't ya? Psychiatrist: I hardly think that. . . . Charlie: Don't apologize. Psychiatrist: I had no intention. . . . Charlie: Disoriented, huh? Mister: (offstage) Hurry up, lout. I don't have all day. Psychiatrist: (starts) Who was that? Charlie: (gestures with finger) Do this. Do that. Psychiatrist: Who said that? Charlie: Mister. Psychiatrist: Me? (Charlie shakes his head no.) Mister who? Charlie: Mister Mister. Psychiatrist: What a strange name. Charlie: His wife's is stranger. Psychiatrist: What's her name? Charlie: Nosey, ain't ya? Psychiatrist: I was only trying. . . . Mister: (offstage) How much longer, oaf? (the psychiatrist starts) Charlie: Soon, Boss. Mister: (offstage) Call me Mister. Psychiatrist: What does he want? Charlie: Mrs. Mister. Psychiatrist: His wife? Charlie: Perceptive. Psychiatrist: You're right. That is a stranger name. Charlie: What? Psychiatrist: Perceptive. Charlie: Nobody's named perceptive. . . . Does reality seem to elude you? Psychiatrist: Hardly in my profession. I'm a psychiatrist. Mister: (offstage) Well, fool! Charlie: Ready. Mister: (enters, walks upstage center, and bows to audience) We continue. (he goes to the psychiatrist, looks him up and down, circles him in a thorough inspection. To Charlie) Is that the best you could do? (Charlie shrugs) Well let's find out if he's qualified. Psychiatrist: Are you talking about me? Mister: That depends. Psychiatrist: On what? Mister: Whether or not you're acceptable. Psychiatrist: And if I'm not? Mister: There might be consequences. Psychiatrist: What kind? Mister: That depends. Psychiatrist: On what? Mister: Your presentation. Psychiatrist: What presentation? Charlie: Nosey, ain't ya? Mister: Don't be impatient, Charlie. Charlie: He asks a lot of questions. Psychiatrist: I'm supposed to. I'm a psychiatrist. Charlie: You're supposed to have answers. Psychiatrist: I do. I ask questions to help my patients help themselves. Charlie: You claim to have answers? Psychiatrist: Of course. Charlie: Who wrote Oblomov? Psychiatrist: I don't know. Charlie: Explain string theory. Psychiatrist: I can't. Charlie: Who won the battle of Lepanto? Psychiatrist: I don't know about those things. I'm a doctor. Charlie: What's the prognosis for Ewing's tumor? Psychiatrist: Not that kind of doctor. I deal with mental illnesses. Charlie: How are Jungian archtypes manifested in inner city fatherless children? Psychiatrist: Look here! I won't be interrogated by a common laborer. Charlie: He's ready, boss. Mister: (to psychiatrist.) I require your assistance in a personal matter. Psychiatrist: (huffily) Here's my card. Call my office for an appointment. (Mister ignores it and the card flutters to the ground) Mister: Achmed. Achmed: I'm looking. Mister: (to Charlie) 3. Achmed: Aw, boss. I was looking. Mister: 5. (Charlie goes to fence and writes 5) Now show our visitor how big you are. (Achmed gets up and looks menacing.) Psychiatrist: Are you threatening me? Charlie: Do you feel threatened? Psychiatrist: This is getting ridiculous. (turns to leave) Mister: Aren't you the least bit curious about us? Psychiatrist: Not at all. You're obviously very disturbed individuals. Charlie: You're afraid of us. Psychiatrist: No. I'm not. Charlie: Yes. You are. Psychiatrist: I'm not. Charlie: Are too. Psychiatrist: This is getting childish. Charlie: You started it. Psychiatrist: No. I didn't. Charlie: Did. Psychiatrist: Let's not go through that again. . . . (to Mister) What do you want from me? Charlie: Nosey, ain't ya? Mister: (to Charlie) It's a legitimate question. (to Psychiatrist) I must decide whether I'm trapped in illusion or delusion. Psychiatrist: (relieved) Why didn't you say so right away? There's no need for embarrassment. Many people suffer the same difficulties. Call my office for an appointment. (he offers a card. Mister doesn't take it and it flutters to the ground) Mister: Now. Psychiatrist: This is hardly the place. . . . Mister: Now. Psychiatrist: I have patients waiting. . . . Mister: Achmed! (Achmed stands. Menaces) Psychiatrist: (sulkily) Alright. I'll give you five minutes. Now what seems to be the problem? Charlie: Nosey. Ain't ya? Mister: (shushes Charlie) I don't know where my wife is. Psychiatrist: Did she go somewhere? Mister: Yes. Psychiatrist: Did you try calling relatives or friends? Mister: She's not there. Psychiatrist: Did you call the local hospital? Mister: She's not there. Psychiatrist: Do you have any idea where she might have gone? Mister: No. She disappeared. Psychiatrist: This sounds like a case for the police. Mister: No. They can't help. Psychiatrist: Why not? If they can find her. . . . Mister: She'll just fool them when they question her. Psychiatrist: They have to find her first. Mister: They'll find her at home. Psychiatrist: I thought you said she disappeared? Mister: She did. Psychiatrist: I don't understand. Charlie: Penalty? Mister: No, Charlie. Bewilderment is legitimate. (to Psychiatrist) She's there, but not there. Psychiatrist: I see. Achmed: Where? (looks around with binoculars) Psychiatrist: Where what? Achmed: I'm looking, but I don't see. Mister: (to Psychiatrist) Do you understand? Psychiatrist: Not completely. Charlie: Then why did you say 'I see'? Psychiatrist: It's a standard psychiatric device to encourage someone to continue talking. Charlie: (to Mister) Penalty? Mister: Not yet. (to Psychiatrist.) The woman I loved and married is gone. A stranger occupies her body. Psychiatrist: I see. Achmed: Where? Psychiatrist: When did you first discover she disappeared? Mister: About a year ago. Psychiatrist: Did you try talking to her? Mister: Of course. Psychiatrist: And? Mister: She didn't know what I was talking about. Psychiatrist: Did anyone else notice a difference in her? Mister: No. Psychiatrist: Do you know other people who disappeared, yet still inhabited their bodies? Mister: No. Psychiatrist: You're not very responsive. Mister: You're not perceptive. Psychiatrist: I'm glad you can tell the difference between me and your wife. Mister: What are you talking about? Psychiatrist: Your wife. Perceptive. Mister: Nobody's named Perceptive. Psychiatrist: I thought. . . . This is very confusing. Mister: Do you have trouble relating to others? Psychiatrist: Of course not. I'm a psychiatrist. Mister: Yes. Well we all have our problems. Psychiatrist: I don't have problems. I help other people with their problems. Mister: There's no need to get defensive. Psychiatrist: (yelling) I'm not getting defensive. Charlie: Penalty? Mister: Yes. Achmed: 5? Mister: Yes. (Charlie writes 'psychiatrist' on the fence, followed by 5) Psychiatrist: What are you doing? Charlie: You'll find out. Psychiatrist: This is getting ridiculous. Charlie: Penalty? Mister: Yes. Achmed: 10 this time? Mister: Yes. (Charlie writes on fence) Psychiatrist: I'm beginning to think I'm talking to a group of lunatics. Mister: Do you frequently think everyone's crazy but you? Psychiatrist: Of course. I'm a psychiatrist. Now once and for all. What do you want from me? Mister: I want to know where my real wife is. Psychiatrist: How long have you been married? Mister: Twelve years. Psychiatrist: Then isn't it obvious? Mister: What? Psychiatrist: Your marriage is in a mid-life crisis. It happens to all marriages. You need to rejuvenate your relationship. Pump in some fresh blood, so to speak. Mister: So you're suggesting that my wife is really there and this is just an ordinary problem. Psychiatrist: That's right. Mister: What if she's not there? Psychiatrist: Try what I suggested. You'll see. . . . Achmed: I'm looking. Psychiatrist: (to Mister) Your associates are very peculiar. Charlie: Look who's talking. Psychiatrist: As I was saying. Add some spice to your relationship. Take her to the theater. Mister: She doesn't like theater. Psychiatrist: Take her to a museum. Mister: She doesn't like art. Psychiatrist: Then find something she likes. Mister: And if that doesn't work? Psychiatrist: Call me at my office and we'll discuss it. (he hands Mister a card that flutters to ground) Mister: Is that all you have to say? Psychiatrist: Yes. We're outside of a clinical setting. Now I have to go. I'm late for my next patient. Mister: You haven't been very helpful. Psychiatrist: That's all I can do now. I really must be going. Mister: (Charlie and Ahmed move closer, menacingly) In fact you've been quite useless. Psychiatrist: I wouldn't go that far. Mister: Do you have anything to say in mitigation? Psychiatrist: Are you crazy? This isn't a trial. Charlie: Life is a trial. Psychiatrist: This has gone far enough. If you don't let me go I'm going to call for help. Charlie: (laughs) People don't help anybody in the cities any more. Psychiatrist: I tried. Don't you see? Achmed: I'm looking. Psychiatrist: I'm calling the police. (he takes out cellphone. Charlie takes it.) Charlie: Nice gadget. (puts it in his pocket) Mister: I guess we're finished with you. (he bows to audience) Mister. (to Charlie and Achmed) Take him away. (exit Mister. Charlie and Achmed grab Psychiatrist.) Psychiatrist: Wait a minute. Charlie: What? Psychiatrist: What are you going to do to me? Charlie: You'll find out. Psychiatrist: Are you going to hurt me? Charlie: You'll find out. Psychiatrist: You can't hurt me just because he tells you to. Charlie: Why not? Psychiatrist: Because it's not right. What kind of monster is your boss? Charlie: He's a lawyer. Psychiatrist: Oh. Why do you obey him? Charlie: He's saving my brother from prison. Achmed: He's getting me a green card. Psychiatrist: (to Achmed) You don't seem an unreasonable as your colleagues. Can you help me? Achmed: I'm looking. (Charlie and Achmed start to drag him out) Psychiatrist: Where are you taking me? Charlie: You'll find out. (exit all) |
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